


Despair Begets Hope

by Kimium



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Canon - Despair, Character Study, Gen, One Shot, Post DR 1, Pre DR 1, Pre UDG/AE, Slight hint of body mutilation, Small mention of dead bodies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 09:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17546858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimium/pseuds/Kimium
Summary: One Shot. Pre and Post DR 1. Pre UGD/AE"That was how the world worked. Everything was in a cycle. Life. Seasons. Phrases of the moon. Hope. Despair.It was all a coin, a consistent turning of the wheel. The world was manipulated as easy as the people on it. The world was raised. The world was plummeted. The world was raised. The world was plummeted. The sooner people accepted it, the better."An introspective look into Servant (Komaeda Nagito's?) mind.





	Despair Begets Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!!!
> 
> This idea literally popped into my brain maybe an hour or so ago? I know I've written a TON on Nagito and have dived deep into his mind before, but I always like sharing my writing on him. Originally, I was going to make this part of my Bad Things Happen Bingo for one of my fills, but I decided this wasn't filling the square as well as I'd hoped. However, I didn't want this little snippet to go to waste, so here you all are.
> 
> Nagito is, by far, my favourite character in the entirety of the Dangan Ronpa series. I absolutely adore him and I really like getting into the SDR2's cast's minds regarding Despair. Maybe, I'll write some sort of follow up as someone else? I keep telling myself I'll write as Kuzuryuu or Sonia. Maybe now I will and I'll do it in a similar style as this fic.
> 
> As always, feel free to leave kudos or comments on this fic. Those really motivate me and make my day! Also, if you want to check out my tumblr, the link is right [here](http://www.kimium.tumblr.com).

_Hope_.

The word sent a full body shiver down his spine, muscles twitching, bones cracking, and hands twisting. Licking his lips, he tasted the smog and ash in the air. Thick. Dense. Smoky, like the first taste of smoked meat. Salty. Wooden. Savoury. Then, the thick, opaque after taste, almost bitter and sour. The taste coated his tongue over, drying his mouth, making everything taste just a bit fuzzy. Swallowing he cracked a smile. It was a small smile, like a smile with friends when telling a secret, or when a joke was silently, mentally passed in the air between. Except there was no one to share the secret or joke with. There was only silence, himself, crumbling buildings, cracked roads, and thirty thousand dead bodies littering the street.

So, really, was he alone?

Most would say he was. Consciousness dictated presence. Sound indicated life. Movement showed being.

Did that mean if he was still, fell asleep, and didn’t make a sound he’d be considered dead?

He wasn’t sure. Alone implied nobody else around. Alone implied isolated. Alone implied death. Alone implied not alive.

Not alive.

He touched his chest, sinking the palm of his hand over his heart, pressing down, like the world’s most ineffective chest compressions. Underneath the heat of his hand, he could feel his pulse, beating, pumping blood, sending oxygen to his organs. Medically speaking, having a pulse was under the definition of “alive”.

Dropping his hand, he laughed again to himself, breathing in the air, exhaling the carbon dioxide out. It was a cycle, a never ending cycle of the human body. Oxygen was needed. Carbon dioxide wasn’t. Or at least, that’s what he remembered from school.

School. That was a bit fuzzy too. His brain was very fuzzy. Not that it mattered. Memories made up a person’s being. They didn’t dictate living or dying. If someone forgot something it didn’t disrupt the cycle of breathing, of the consistent need for oxygen. That was how the world worked. Everything was in a cycle. Life. Seasons. Phrases of the moon. Hope. Despair.

It was all a coin, a consistent turning of the wheel. The world was manipulated as easy as the people on it. The world was raised. The world was plummeted. The world was raised. The world was plummeted. The sooner people accepted it, the better.

History showed time and time again that’s how the world worked. Natural disasters. Wars. Violent crimes. Disease. All of those events were followed with hopeful outcomes. Cleaning up the cities and helping those affected. Peace memorials and treaties. Criminals being brought to justice. Cures discovered or created. All of those events were tied together, and if broken down to the basics, hope and despair were tied together. If a huge tragedy occurred, then a bigger hope would emerge.

The world was plummeting, sinking downwards. That meant a bigger hope would rise and defeat the evil. Seeing the world crumble and break hurt but that pain would eventually leave. Hope would win. It always would, and at the heels of hope, despair would linger.

He skipped down the street and laughed to himself again. This time the laughter echoed and bounced off the cracked buildings, filled his ears with strained joy. His brain swirled, ached, desperately was reaching for that pinnacle. Something big was going to happen. Something huge. Something… Hopeful.

~

Stumbling across the shop with a half broken, but working TV was a miracle. Except he didn’t believe in miracles. Or coincidence. There was only his luck and his lack of luck. So, it was luck that brought him to the TV. It was also luck that he was able to see the beginning. The beginning of the stage she wanted to set up. The stage that was tipping the scales of the world, leaning towards despair or hope, he wasn’t sure.

Days passed. He sat amidst the rubble and the decay and watched. Despair and hope were in consistent battle, always threatening to tip in the favour of the other.  He sat and watched as soon, the stage so carefully set up, the play created, crashed and burned. Eyes widening, he leaned forward and lifted his hand, his bony fingers, and pressed them to the non broken side of the TV. On screen he watched as Hope was born. Pure, radiating hope.

Tears ran down his eyes and he felt like a knob in his chest was loosening, cracking a bit. Despair, which had purged the world in a hellish, inky blackness, was being purified by Hope.

Not a miracle. Not even luck. No, the being on screen had Transcended luck. _He_ (Naegi Makoto, that name sent shivers down his spine) had crossed into the realm of Hope.

The world was going to change. The symbol of Despair was gone. Scales were tipped for hope. This was the something he had felt was going to happen.

Plans had to change. He frowned. His aimless journey along the hellish landscape of the world had to change. He needed to see the site of Hope triumphing over Despair. He had to see the place where the Scales had Tipped.

He stood up and turned around. There was a new journey for him. Tucking his musing away, he focused. A new destination had been created for him and even he, as a mere pawn in the world’s chess board, had a destiny to fulfil. A future. An outcome only he could set up.

Smiling, he headed towards Hopes Peak Academy.

~

They were gone, of course, and the building in disarray. Carefully, he made his way down, towards the place. It was like he was descending into hell. Or heaven. It didn’t matter.

Downstairs the place was a bit less in ruin, now that the air filter was gone. The gas mask he had found was useful. Taking his time, he wandered around, wishing he could breathe in the air, the same air that had been present when Hope was born and Despair defeated. Such wishes would go unanswered and unfulfilled.

That was fine. Being in the same area was enough.

Walking further down, the area began to become more enclosed, less space for someone to run away. It was like descending into the next layer of hell. Or into an inner sanctuary. Again, it didn’t matter.

It was only because one of the lights was still flickering barely, giving the place an eerie feel, that he saw it. The entire area was long, like he had reached a chamber of worship. Desks, broken chalkboards, it all accumulated until he reached the end.

There, under the press, was an arm.

An arm that was pale with death. An arm that extended outwards, the hand limp. A hand with garish red finger nails.

It was her arm.

Exhaling sharply, he felt the tingle down his spine again. It ran cold, burning icy fingers into his muscles and sinews. His lungs felt like they were about to burst, forced to expand and contract around broken glass.

_Despair._

The word was sweet and icy, like the sweetest of fruity drinks cafes sold at shops during the summer. A sip would slide down in a burst of cold and sugar, sending both a brain freeze, and a sugar rush at the same time. The taste would then grow sour on the tongue, sticky, heavy with nothing but sugar and fake fruit flavour. Yet, despite the taste, the appeal for more and more would linger. It was a craving that only needed one sip to satisfy, but they sold in quantities upon quantities, so the consumer would have to have more.

He licked his lips, tasted the sugar and artificial fruit on his tongue, and bent down.

She had died in despair and hope. She had died wanting and not wanting her death. She had embodied all the contradictions in the world. She had died as the Ultimate Despair but in accepting her death, she had died in a Hopeful way.

What would it be like to feel that intensity of hope? What would it be like to stare death in the eyes, stare at terror, and feel the warmth of acceptance and hope?

It was selfish of him, a mere pawn, to desire this outcome, but his hand was twitching towards the arm. His fingers brushed the skin and he flinched, before he relaxed. He’d never know unless he become as one with Hope and Despair as she did.

He’d never know unless he experienced exactly what she had.

Looking at the arm again, he felt another tingle, another taste in his mouth. It wasn’t bitter and sour like Hope. It wasn’t sweet and icy like Despair. The taste was smooth, silky, but sunk heavily in his stomach. It tasted sweet. It tasted sour. It tasted bitter. It tasted icy.

Licking his lips with anticipation, he glanced around the area. There had to be something he could use, to cut through the bone and the muscle. He’d find it. He had all the luck in the world, and with his luck, he was sure he’d feel the Hope he was seeking.

Smiling, this time widely, so widely that it felt like his face couldn’t contain it, and he stood up.

“Time,” he spoke to himself, hearing his voice aloud for the first time in ages, “to get started.”

~

The hacksaw gleamed wickedly in the moonlight that poured from the cracked ceiling. He bit into the thick wad of cotton in his mouth, making his tongue feel dry. A pit was forming in his stomach, a dense pit, like a peach pit or a plum pit. His fingers were sweaty on the handle of the hacksaw and he had to grip it a few more times. There was no countdown. There was no audience. It was just him and the hacksaw.

A small part of his brain told him to drop the hacksaw, walk away, leave the arm to rot in the soil. Fear filled him, fear and terror and Despair.

All that had to mean was the arrival of Hope was upon him.

Hope was going to guide him. If he could feel the Ultimate Despair, then he’d feel the Ultimate Hope.

With that, he got to work.

~

Blood dripped through the bandages and he couldn’t feel his arm. Yet, as he stumbled out, bathing properly in the moonlight, a woozy laugh ripped out of his chest and filled the air with bouts of hysteria, terror, happiness, sadness, and hope.

A part of him had faded away but that part wasn’t necessary. Past. Purpose. Future. Identity. All of those things washed away until he was left naked, stripped clean.

He was a pawn, yes, but he had another purpose to fill. If he could feel both Despair and Hope at the same time, in their purest forms, then that meant he had to share it with the world. He had to spread it, like people who spread their beliefs joyfully. What were those people called again?

Oh, right.

Servants.

Swallowing and looking up again at the moon lit sky, he felt like he was bathed in the glow, in the warmth, and was born anew.

As a Servant.

Just a Servant. A Servant that had to go out and do his job in serving Hope and Despair.

In order to do that, he too needed a stage. A stage filled with strife, a stage that was on the tipping point of Hope and Despair.

“To Towa City.” Servant muttered to himself. “To Towa City I shall go.”

There was Despair people needed to feel but there was also Hope that people needed to feel. He’d be the one to make those people see. He’d make them all see Hope. A wave of happiness filled him and he knew that this happiness was really Hope.

Servant couldn’t wait to spread Hope to the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Komaeda Nagito/Servant: To those who haven't played or seen a play through of Ultra Despair Girls or Another Episode, it's the name he goes by in that game.


End file.
